


157 Times Too Many

by Lissy (Alicia_H)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-10
Updated: 2008-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_H/pseuds/Lissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored Paul and a frustrated John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	157 Times Too Many

Thump. "151." Thump. "152." Thump. "153." Thump. "154."

"Paul, give up chucking that ball. It's getting on me wick."

"Is it now?" Paul asked lightly as he caught the ball and threw it back at the wall. Thump. "155."

"Yeah and your counting is driving me up the wall too."

"Really? That's nice for you. 156."

“Oy, Steve McQueen! I’m being serious now, give it up.”

“Shurrup, John. I’m concentrating. Look, I nearly dropped it then.”

"All right, we can do this the easy way or we can do this my way. I don’t care which. Just give that bloody ball 'ere!"

"What?" Paul looked innocently up at John, clutching the 'bloody ball' in his left hand. He threw it back at the wall without looking. "One hundred and fifty sev- shit, that hurts!" It had bounced back and hit his fingers hard before flying off into a corner.

"Serves you right then, doesn't it?" John said smugly.

Paul stood up and retrieved the ball. He looked at it sadly and complained that he’d lost count.

"You've thrown it 157 times since you've come back from dinner and _that’s_ 157 times too many. George says you got up to 342 yesterday and he had to lob the cushion at you to get you to stop then. He should’ve smothered you with it, if you ask me. You're obsessed with this thing and it's sending everyone insane."

Paul sat back down in his spot next to the wall. He threw the ball at it again and as he caught it. "One," he said grumpily.

"If you don't stop that, I'll be throwing your _head_ at the wall."

He bounced it again but couldn't catch it in time. It rolled off under the table. Paul made a half-arsed attempt to reach it but, realising it was well beyond his reach and unwilling to stand up, appealed to his best friend.

"Eh, pass us the ball, John."

"What do you say?" John asked, crossing his arms.

Paul rolled his eyes. "All right, _please_."

John picked up the ball and glared at it. Then he put it in his pocket, shaking his head. Paul spent the rest of the evening sulking. It was worth it for the peace and quiet they all got.

Later, Paul lay in bed, turning away from John as he entered the room. John offered what might’ve been the start of an apology if Paul had responded to him. Instead, his friend maintained a stubborn silence.

John crept behind him. He waited a few seconds before asking how his fingers were doing but instead of asking the question, like most normal people, he shouted it right down his lughole. Paul, used to John being himself, simply replied moodily that he thought they might be bruised or swollen or something. They were sore, anyway.

“Aww, do you want me to kiss ‘em better?”

“You can leave my fingers well alone, John.”

John joined Paul in his bed and whispered cheekily, “I’ll just find another part of you to kiss, Macca.”

“I thought as much.”


End file.
